He drops my bag and walks towards me.
I gulp and keep going.
“I’m the one being satisfied, Asher. I’m the one in control, because I’m the one who will make you masturbate when you leave. So there. I win.”
He cups my face in his hands. More voices and laughter come from off to the left. The rain has let up now and the place is getting busy again. “Miss Kinsella, would you like me to let you win this one?”
I nod. “I would. I really, really would.”
“Will you agree to be a good girl for the next command, Grace? If I let you have your way at this moment? No matter what I ask?”
I know the answer to this, and that answer is no. No, no, no! He’s setting me up, I can feel it. But I have a hard time saying no to people in the best of situations and right now all I want is to be spared the public humiliation of being caught touching myself by strangers. But at the same time, I really want to keep the game going. So of course, I say, “Yes, I will. I will, Mr. Asher. I swear. If you want I’ll go inside and give it a try in my room. You can even watch, but I won’t be—”
“Shh,” he says with a finger to my lips. And then he leans down and kisses me gently. His tongue slips in slightly, but not far. Just a small, tender kiss that makes my whole body melt like butter. “You win then. OK?”
He pulls back, his strong hands gently resting on my shoulders, the back of his hand lightly sweeping up and down my cheek as he takes me in. “You win. Now inside is a box. Open it and follow all the directions.”
He leans down and kisses me again and then goes back, retrieves my bag, and then slips it up my arm until it rests on my shoulder. He uses my key card to open my door, waving me in with a flourish of his hand.
I step across the threshold and let out a long breath of relief when I see a prettily wrapped box on the bed. When I turn to ask him what it is, all I see is his back as he makes his retreat.
Chapter Seventeen
#ThatListIsGettingLong
THE box is large, white, has a black bow, and everything about it says it’s expensive.
I squeal after I close the door and then skip over to the bed and almost touch the precious, perfect gift box before remembering I’m a filthy mess of naked mud.
I run to the bathroom and look in the mirror.
Je-sus Christ. He saw me like this. I’m a fucking mess! I’ve got mud streaked down my whole body, my hair is a rat’s nest of tangles and that’s not easy to do with hair as straight as mine. I run the shower and jump in. I’m not sure how long I have before I need to meet him, so I wash quickly and wrap myself up in a large plush towel. I wrap my hair up next and then walk back out to the room and take in the box for real.
Yes, it’s definitely out of my price range. And I’m just talking about the wrappings. God only knows what he’s got inside.
I walk slowly over to it, circle it a little, like it’s a dangerous animal.
When did he have time to buy me a present?
I pull on the thick black loop of satin and it slides so easily, the bow practically dissolves with one slight tug. I push it off to the side and then lift off the lid. It comes off with a whoosh of air, and then it’s a flurry of white tissue paper. I rip the little sticker holding the two ends of tissue together, eager to see what kind of present a movie star gives a submissive on their second meeting, and have to gasp as I pull out the skirt and blouse.
The skirt is white flirty chiffon. It’s short. Like very short. The blouse is white, crisp tailored cotton—very classic—like all the women were wearing last night at the wedding. There’s a thick black belt that settles high on the waist to make the legs look longer once it’s on.
He got these clothes from the gift shop. I know this because I was longing for this outfit the day we checked in. Bebe and I stopped just to look—and this was one I had my eye on. The two tags combined came to seven thousand dollars. And if that wasn’t enough to give me a heart attack, I pull out a box filled with sexy shoes that have the trademark red soles of Louboutins. A classic black patent-leather shoe with a peekaboo toe and a cage of thin straps that climb all the way up over the ankle.
I set them on the bed and pull out another little pink bag that I know comes from the lingerie shop because my horrible men’s underwear came in one exactly like it.
I peek inside and there’s one of the bra and panties sets I looked at yesterday, in black.
Oh.
That’s about all I can think right now.
Oh.
This is what it feels like to be taken care of by a wealthy man whose only desire is to turn me on and fuck me hard as I submit to his sexual fantasies.
Why the hell have I been fighting him? I drop my towel and comb out my hair in the nude. I feel so dirty, in a very sexual way, right now. I feel filthy and I want to be naked. I want to do that walk back to the bungalow again just so I can be braver. So I can flaunt my body in public and make him appreciate my boldness, the way I want to please him. And it’s not because he bought me expensive presents, but because what he’s asking for is something I want.